Ancestor Dreams
They gather where the river forms an ox-bow lake.
Old men with beards as big as bushes, women
aproned, busy in their starched mob caps.
Folk who use the muscle of their faith
to uproot trees by hand, impel the earth
to bring forth fruit to glorify God’s name.
And then we putter into view..
a scattering of boats, our outboards drumming up
a froth, the wavelets arrowing astern.
Right foot braced against the gunwale,
I scour the faces for signs of family
a lobeless ear, or a widows peak.
Some I recognise from old pictures –
Isaiah, son of Seneca, who manufactured clocks
before he recognised a greater need for guns.
Old John, the state surveyor, who covered miles
at walking pace, each blade of scrub recorded
until the stubborn land was broken by his map.
I epitomise respect. All I want is one brief wave,
some sign of interest in who we are
but it’s as though they look right through us.
Their stares are palpable, gathering in our wake
like a following wind. The river curls back round
to meet itself. We push against the widening stream.
David Lukens lives in Wiltshire and has worked in teaching, business and information technology. He has written novels for young adults and poetry which has been published in a number of magazines and online. Going too Far is available on Kindle here.